


Some Other Nights

by artttho



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, also my first fic here so tagging is?? unfamiliar to me, angst but not really? i mean i made myself a little sad so :(, but not in a smut way, crowley is more put together, more in a "aziraphale starts to panic and crowley's there to help", sad? aziraphale is sad, sort of way, the night the apocalypse didnt happen and theyre in crowley's flat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 15:13:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19814914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artttho/pseuds/artttho
Summary: “You can stay at my place if you’d like.” Aziraphale snapped his eyes back up to Crowley’s and was surprised to see the demon looking at him. The sound of nature around them seemed to disappear, and soon it was just the two of them sitting side by side on the bench.“I don’t think my side would like that,” Aziraphale said, a sad smile struggling to keep its place. He stared out in front of him, watching lightning bugs flicker in and out of existence.“You don’t have a side anymore,” Crowley said softly. “Neither of us do."





	Some Other Nights

**Author's Note:**

> ohohoho my first fic!! I'm usually doing art on tumblr so this is very new for me!!
> 
> (also this isnt exactly beta'd, so any and all mistakes are made by 1 am me)

“It burned down remember?”

Aziraphale’s smile slipped, his eyes darting from Crowley’s. In all the fuss and confusion at the airbase, he’d forgotten about the bookshop. He sucked in a small breath and clasped his hands in his lap, twisting them nervously. He had had that shop for a very long time, and regarded it as the one place he could truly call his home. Yes, in the last six thousand years, Aziraphale had traveled everywhere, and quite liked his time spent in Italy, but that crowded bookshop on the corner of London was his. And now it was gone.

“You can stay at my place if you’d like.” Aziraphale snapped his eyes back up to Crowley’s and was surprised to see the demon looking at him. The sound of nature around them seemed to disappear, and soon it was just the two of them sitting side by side on the bench. 

“I don’t think my side would like that,” Aziraphale said, a sad smile struggling to keep its place. He stared out in front of him, watching lightning bugs flicker in and out of existence. 

“You don’t have a side anymore,” Crowley said softly. “Neither of us do. We’re on our own side. Like Agnes said,” he shifted towards Aziraphale, infinitesimally. “We’re going to have to choose our faces wisely.” The silence surrounding the two was not uncomfortable but… heavy. That was the part Aziraphale liked the most about Crowley’s company. The rare times where there was silence. Nothing needing to be said, or argued about, just basking in each other’s presence. But this, this was… a lot. Too much. The weight of their situation was incredibly crushing, and Aziraphale honestly didn’t know how to think about it. So, instead of answering, he stood. The bus crawled to a stop in front of them, opening its doors and sinking low. 

“Come on Angel, let’s go to my place.” Crowley stepped up onto the bus, brushing shoulders with Aziraphale. Nodding, the angel followed, sitting on the aisle seat next to him, the brush of their knees and the warmth of their hands like a sigh of relief.

The ride home was as quiet as a bus ride could get. It took just a bit longer than expected, and by the time Crowley’s flat came into view, Aziraphale’s head was resting on the demon’s shoulder. Now he was inside the building, taking everything in, and how explicitly  _ Crowley  _ it was. Which wasn’t a bad thing. Heavens no. The flat was sparse and dark, the only splash of color being the room full of plants to his right. It was empty, but it wasn’t unloved, Aziraphale could feel that much. He could feel how much Crowley appreciated his home, how every piece of furniture, every portrait on the walls, stitched in was the demon’s specific form of love. 

Aziraphale ran his hand over his waistcoat, nervous energy itching to get out. Well. He wouldn’t say he was nervous. Timid seemed a better word. Hesitant. Jumpy. Tense. And not for the fact that he was in Crowley’s home (though that was part of it; Aziraphale had never actually been inside this particular flat before), but more so that he was inside a  _ demon’s  _ home. He knew that he shouldn’t worry about a thing like that at this time, but old habits die hard it seems. 

“Want a cup of tea?” Crowley called from the kitchen. Aziraphale heard the bustle of a kettle being set on a stove, the clicks of the gas, water pouring into metal. The angel smiled.

“Of course, dear boy, tea would be lovely right about now.” Taking in as much of the flat as he could, Aziraphale wandered over to the wide windowed room to his right. He turned the corner and let out a soft gasp. He knew Crowley took care of plants, but he never realized just how  _ many _ , and certainly wasn’t prepared for the glow the green leaves let off. Every corner was filled with a brilliant verdant. 

“Oh, you’re lovely aren’t you?” Aziraphale whispered. He ran his hand along the length of one of the larger leaves. He could feel it shiver ever so slightly, then reach out for his touch. He chuckled and moved around the room, murmuring compliments to each plant. He felt each one reach out to him, felt a wave of warm love from each of them, and noticed their shaking had ceased. Until-

“Aw, Aziraphale, don't encourage them.” A slight tremor shivered through the one Aziraphale was holding. Frowning, he let go. 

“I don't think my words will cause them to go rogue. Maybe you should praise them every once and awhile.” Aziraphale took the offered cup of tea from Crowley, who just huffed in response, softly blowing into his mug. 

And just like that, silence again. It seemed to blanket everything this time, the air thick. With what they had just accomplished. With what a group of eleven year old kids had accomplished, what  _ Adam _ had accomplished (it's not everyday you get the chance to tell off your father who's also Satan, you know). 

And now they were…what? Fugitives? What did Heaven and Hell have in store for them?  _ Did _ Heaven and Hell have something in store for them? What could be a suitable enough punishment for their crime? Faced with the facts, whatever they may be, the only thing that could be done to them was… death? Or would both sides be sadistic enough for torture.  _ Torture _ .  _ How could they even be tortured? _ The only thing Aziraphale could think of was fire, hellish red fire, hot enough to burn if you stood too close. And water, heavenly blessed water, acidic enough to melt the skin off your bones. And both sides had such items, all they had to do was ask, and given the circumstances of the past week, there would be absolutely no rejection, no side turning the other down, no  _ sorry _ ’s no  _ would if I could _ ’s no  _ absolutely not you could use it for the worst _ because in this situation,  _ nothing  _ could be worse than an angel falling down and a demon looking up,  _ nothing _ could cause any reasonable doubt that  _ this _ was the correct course of action that-

A soft touch brought Aziraphale out of his thoughts. He jumped, spilling his cooling tea, nearly dropping the cup out of his numb fingers. Crowley’s hand was covering the angel’s, and he noticed-without-noticing, he had begun to shake. 

“Angel?” The demon’s voice had come out low, soft as a bird’s down feather, and so full of worry. Aziraphale had only heard Crowley sound like that once before, just before the world had been swallowed by rain (“Surely not the children?”). And that worry settled deep inside himself, and he couldn't help but suck in a breath, sharp and painful. Because he knew, right there, that no matter what was going to happen to him the next day, he could not lose Crowley, not as Crowley had almost lost him. 

“Oh dear boy,” Aziraphale’s breath hitched. “Oh, I-we need- I need- it's-” he tried to speak, he really did, but each time he opened his mouth, his words caught in his throat, unable to find its way to a coherent sentence. “We need to talk- we  _ have  _ to talk… about…” He raised his gaze to Crowley’s shaded one, and was disappointed that in this lighting, Aziraphale could barely make out the yellow of his eyes.

Crowley’s hand never left Aziraphale’s. The demon was naturally colder than the other, which to humans might have been chalked up to poor circulation (though demons don't need to circulate their blood at all). It was cool against the angel’s natural warmth, and the sensation helped, Azriaphale thought, to ground himself. His fingers tightened on his mug’s handle, and he took a deep breath. 

“Crowley, we must talk about tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes, tomorrow. Or the next day. Or even the one after that.”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up, confusion written well across his face, and Aziraphale could have kicked himself. He was never the one to be able to articulate very well. 

“Are you asking for the weather? Because I hear it’ll be quite sunny out,” Crowley mused. “But, I think it’s gonna rain for the next few days-”

“No, my dear,” Aziraphale huffed. “I’m not asking for the weather, though, no I heard it wouldn’t rain until monday… but that’s not the point, my point is, oh, how do I…” He turned and set his mug down on the windowsill. And before he could think about it, he said “How do you think they’ll kill us?” There was a moment of quiet.

“You really think they’d kill us?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale lowered his gaze and pursed his lips. If he had been asked that twenty years ago he would have scoffed,  _ obviously no! What do you take us for, monsters? _ Hell-Heaven-Whatever, if he’d been asked that just a few days ago. But now…

“I don’t know what they’re going to do, Crowley, but I’m absolutely certain it won’t be good.” Even the angel could hear the shake in his own voice. Even he couldn’t stop the tremors in his hands. “And I can’t-” his voice cracked. “I can’t lose you.” He made it a point to keep his eyes on one of the leaves just a few inches from his face. 

“Angel,” Crowley said. Aziraphale shut his eyes. “Angel.” Cool hands once again found place with Aziraphale’s. “ _ Angel.”  _ Like a soft breeze, close enough to his face he could feel Crowley’s breath on his nose. 

“I can’t-” Aziraphale whispered. Behind his closed eyes, all he could see was his friend, his  _ best friend _ with that stupid thermos full of water, and how much Hell needed to hurt him. He had never actually seen holy water work before, and he really didn’t ever plan to, but, oh, how he could imagine. How he could imagine the smoke, the screams the smell- oh the smell must be  _ horrible _ , he thought, like too burnt chicken maybe, like the inside of a blow dryer that’s been on for too long, like  _ Crowley who just got splashed with holy water oh God- _

“Angel, look at me.” Aziraphale couldn’t, he couldn’t open his eyes, they were shut too tight. Because maybe if he didn’t open them, maybe if he didn’t look at his demon, nothing bad could happen to him, nothing could hurt him. The coolness left his hands and Aziraphale almost jumped when he felt them framing his face. They were soft and confident, and just a little bit distracting. They cupped his cheeks, thumbs ghosting just under his eyes, and it wasn’t until then did Aziraphale realized he was crying. Crowley lowered his head slowly, until their foreheads were touching. “I can’t do anything else until you look at me.”

Hesitantly, Aziraphale opened his eyes. His vision was blurred, and crying wasn’t helping, but sure enough, there was Crowley. He was close enough to bump noses with, and Aziraphale noticed his eyes. He could see them, gold and orange, black snake slits, and so… open. So inviting. So warm. 

“Hey, there we are,” Crowley smiled. “Your eyes are so blue,” he breathed.

“Yours are so yellow,” Aziraphale countered. 

“It was either that or red, and I think that’s a little too cliche, yeah?” Aziraphale chuckled. “Ah, see, we’re smiling now.” There was a beat of silence as the two reveled in their closeness. But it couldn’t last forever, and quick enough, the angel’s smile slipped from his face.

“How are we going to get through this?” he asked, his voice smaller than it has been in a long, long time. He could feel Crowley sigh against him.

“I don’t know, Angel. I really don’t,” he said. “I don’t know what’s in store for us after this, I don’t know how we’re going to get out of it, and God knows averting the apocalypse was one miracle we couldn’t control after another.” Aziraphale felt the other’s hands tighten, just for a moment. “But I can promise this one thing…” Crowley moved back slightly from Aziraphale, his eyes taking their time to roam his face, from the start of his hair, to his eyelashes, his nose, down to his lips. And he leaned in, kissing his angel. 

Aziraphale’s breath hitched, and he sighed, leaning into the kiss. He lifted his hands and placed them on Crowley’s hips, closing his eyes, melting. Each passing second ticked off his worries, his doubts, his fears. Crowley was right here, right now, in his arms. And he felt so  _ warm, _ so  _ alive _ .  _ He’s here he’s okay he’s fine he’s kissing me he’s kissing me he’s kissing me _ … 

They both broke for air, once again leaning their foreheads together.

“I can promise this one thing, Angel. I’m not leaving you. I’m never leaving you.” Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, holding him tight, and the angel could feel the tears threatening to spill, and he swallowed thickly. He held onto the other for his life, and he shook, crying without conviction, without fear of scorn, in the arms of someone he trusted, someone he loved. And oh did he love Crowley. 


End file.
